


Left the Runners Behind (The Killer in Me Remix)

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Category: Farscape
Genre: Community: remix_redux, F/M, Remix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-20
Updated: 2004-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:32:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dangerous to dream with wormholes nearby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left the Runners Behind (The Killer in Me Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Heroes for Ghosts](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/6492) by Apathy. 



They're out there.

Wormholes becoming, wormholes on the edge. It's because of them I don't sleep, dangerous to dream with wormholes nearby, dangerous not to be mindful of the minefield. I drifted off once in the orbit of a red dwarf, and when Aeryn shook me awake we were hurtling toward the other side of the galaxy.

Aeryn's asleep now, a streak of dark Nebari blood on her cheek. Aeryn's problems are not my problems. Every eighteen arns she's out like clockwork, oblivious to giants whispering and stretching awake outside, me rattling around the ship whispering back.

Tonight I'm patrolling the ship again. Big game tomorrow, gotta prep, gotta huddle with my boys, gotta grab the one who'll run us home.

I find Scorpius on the command, attempting to conspire. He doesn't know the language, though -- still hasn't managed, after all this time, to steal my dubious gift: semantics of journeys, syntax of destinations, connections, possibilities. He calls out to the wormholes and they don't listen. The stars eyeball him through the glass, giving away nothing.

But every night I find him here.

"I thought you might be awake," he says. Skinny black grasshopper man, turning to nod at my approach.

I step up beside him and peer through the viewscreen, making some inquiries. The wormholes interview me in turn, reaching out deep dream fingers until finally we come to agreement. I nudge the ship forward.

"Have you found the one?" he asks. "The one that will take you home?"

Part of me can't help but show off, scratching at the surface of spacetime -- look how easy it is, what you'll never learn -- and light from the opening wormhole refracts across Scorpy's face, his smile sharp-toothed with pleasure.

The wormhole tells me the next leg of the journey. I correct it gently: _This_ is where we're going. Blue dot coaxed from the glare of the sun, coming into focus, white clouds swirling across. _There._ From this viewpoint I could almost reach out and put it in my pocket.

"It will be a proud homecoming," Scorpius says. "Triumphant."

And I remember when we brought Peacekeeper High Command the news about the Scarrans, thinking they'd finally sit up and deal. Turned out all Scorpy's Crichton-chasing meant he'd strayed a long way from the hivemind. They didn't want to deal. They wanted to take.

I make the wormhole swell up, widening to the size of an asteroid. I hadn't known, until we went to the Peacekeepers, that you could make a wormhole big enough to move a planet.

Scorpius's hand creeps over my shoulder. "You have a wondrous gift, John. Dare I say a divine gift."

"Go wake the others," I tell him.

He shuts up and goes. One by one they appear on the command: Aeryn first, Seylan second, Scorpius and Sikozu last, so I know they've been talking about me. Nothing new.

"You okay?" I ask Aeryn.

Her cheek is clean now, the bone pressing up from beneath like a blade. "They caught us by surprise," she says. "Next time, we'll be ready."

"Thanks for guarding the door."

"Of course." She shrugs. Combat's easier than breathing.

Seylan interrupts us: "How long will we stay on Earth?"

I wrap an arm around her neck and kiss her temple. She holds very still, a tiger at rest. "Could be a while. Humans are notoriously slow."

"Only at first," Aeryn says with a secretive smile.

Seylan pulls away. Like mother, like daughter.

"All right, folks, it's time." I take my position at the helm. "Last exit was about seven acts of war ago. This one's the gold at the end of the rainbow. Strap in."

All the ship needs to maneuver is one person, designed that way for the heat of battle when you need every hand available on weapons. The others line up at the viewscreen as I make the entry vector.

Going home, as Scorpius says, in triumph and in pride. It's been a few cycles. Last time was as much for Seylan as politics: opportunity to meet her dad's side of the family, to learn what crap like "end of the rainbow" means. She hated it, of course, hated the stupid humans and their ignorance, their curiosity, hated their food and smells and allergens, hated how they reminded her of the weakest parts of herself.

Of course, she hated the Peacekeepers, too, so there's some hope left.

The wormhole's tame and purring beneath my hand, smooth ride all the way to the end. We get deposited just inside the IASA sensor range around Mars, and immediately we're buzzed by Mission Control.

"Unidentified spacecraft, hold your position."

"Hello Earth, John Crichton here. Lemme talk to one of the big boys."

There's a pause. I know they're cranking up the voice analysis stuff, navigating peaks and valleys on a graph to see if I'm the real J.C. They don't know there are about a dozen species out there who can fool any human-grown tech.

Eventually a new voice comes on. "Commander Crichton, this is Mariko Bloomfield, Secretary-General to the United Nations of Earth. Welcome home."

Not a big boy, a big girl. Her title makes me wonder what they've been doing these past few years, sitting out here all alone with the double threat of Scarrans and Peacekeepers on the horizon. They don't even know what else to be afraid of.

"What news do you have for us?" Bloomfield asks, and her voice is naked with hope.

*

We land at good old Cape Canaveral. There's the typical welcoming party clustered at the bottom of the gangway, one crew of white-coated techs and another of suits. Those costumes give me the hives, the way they still parade out to inspect us for space germs, when on any other planet we'd just park and stroll over to the nearest gas attendant.

Today shouldn't take long. The Secretary-General's putting together an impromptu meeting of the big powers to discuss the news, and my presence is "requested." Intergalactic heroes get invited to all the best parties.

I scan the humans and pick out the one who looks like he can cut through the procedural dren. But as I'm heading over a hand falls on my shoulder -- I almost whip around and take the owner's head off with my pulse pistol, but something stops me.

Here, on the edge of the crowd, is Jack.

He looks old, goddamn old. Loose skin wrinkled around deep grooves in his face, shoulders stooped around a caved-in chest. He embraces me, shaking a little, and a slithering kind of fear pulls itself up my throat. The body is wrong, _wrong_ \-- frail and sticklike, no way it could have ever once held up an astronaut's suit.

We pull away at the same time and I look into his faded eyes. He's crying, slow leak trickling down the cracks in his face. "Let me look at you," he says. "I missed you, son."

"Missed you too, Dad," I say, or something like it. Suddenly conscious of how close we're standing, how we've got our backs to the crowd of suits and the way I had no frelling idea just how long four years could be. "D'you mind if we continue this conversation later?" Big smile on my face, shallow as a kiddie pool. "We've got stuff to unload, people to talk to, press conferences to give."

"Oh, sure, sure. You go ahead."

Before he's done speaking I turn around and head back to the ship. Cool, soothing metallic alloy, still smelling of the emptiness of space and the singe of the wormhole. I catch Aeryn's knowing eye and, just as quickly, look away.

Thing is, I'm not ready for this, this evidence of time marching forward, this father fading like a slower runner left in the dust. There's a whisper in my ear, the wormhole tempting me with time: "Go back and do it earlier. Go back and do it before." And I can see pathways opening up, the map for rewriting reality.

Aeryn shoves one end of a container toward me. I grab the handle automatically, and we take it off the ship again into the bright sun, until the light obscures the wormhole's voice.

"Who else have you got in there, son?" Jack comes forward again, eager like a child. "D'Argo? Chiana?"

And I remember again how long it's been. "They're gone."

Gone, lost, defectors, ship jumpers. Ghosts to me. "They just _left_?" Jack demands, and in response the old fury sparks, lurching up, not wanting to relive. I clutch Aeryn's hand tightly, stronger than mine, always.

"Said they'd played their part, that they didn't need to do anything else. Chi and D'Argo left together, Sparky's probably re-conquering Hyneria right now, and Stark left with Moya. Old woman's long dead. So's Jool."

Aeryn circling my waist with her arm, repeating D'Argo's words: "Frell you, and frell your fahrbot crusade."

D'Argo striding away, his shoulders an implacable wall. And Chiana, none of us aware yet how poisonous her blood was to the universe. I doubt they've managed to avoid the Nebari after all this time. Should've stuck with the plan.

If only they could have seen. If they could have seen the stars swallowing the Scarrans in flame. The wormhole inside out, PK High Command tumbling from its lip. Then they might have understood.

"Earth is safe," I tell Jack. I watch him not believe me. I watch him ease himself to the ground, frail old man, frail old non-believer just like D'Argo and Chi and the others who fell behind.

"What're the plans for the rest of the general Scarran population?" he asks, because he still doesn't see.

"What general population?" I laugh.

He pushes himself up, into my face. "The civilians," Jack says slowly, shocked. "The Scarrans who didn't take part in any of this."

"Now they never will."

I kiss Aeryn's proud smile, in her eyes the burning of planets before she closes them in pleasure. I want to take her to the beach, let her sleep on the sand with the blue sky arching over the ocean, and all the stars and wormholes hidden by the fire of the sun.

"Despite their many flaws," Scorpy says behind us, "the Peacekeepers can be most…effective…when under competent command."

And he'd know, wouldn't he, after I gave the monsters to him with a silver bullet.

"Come, John," he says. "Let us tell all of your people the good news. Your Secretary-General certainly seemed glad to hear it." He strides off with Sikozu in tow, seeking glory.

Aeryn pulls my arm, her eyes tracking Seylan's wary, hostile journey through the techs and suits. "Talk to you later, Jack," I say, and leave him there fading into the shadow of the ship.

Aeryn looks around at the techs. They're scanning and cataloging all of our equipment with their kids' toys, the expression on every face some variety of clueless.

"Don't break anything, boys," I warn as we pass.

"They're not ready," Aeryn says. She doesn't even bother to lower her voice. "Do you really think they'll have any worth in battle, even as foot soldiers?" A tech glances up at her, surprised.

I shrug. "Planet's overpopulated, anyway. And we need the manpower."

"Or the womanpower." She smiles again.

"Too bad there aren't enough of you to guard every door." I slide my hand across the exposed skin of her back, hot with life and strength.

"We'll just have to train them, then," she says. "Like I did you."

I kiss her again, grinning. "Maybe a little gentler this time."

"The Secretary-General was glad to hear about the Scarrans and the Peacekeepers," Aeryn says, echoing Scorpius, "but how will she agree about the Nebari?"

"Well, it's like you said. Humans are slow, but eventually they catch on."

"And if you're wrong?"

The wormhole we took to get here, trapped somewhere around Mars, buzzes in my head like an angry fly. From its viewpoint, Earth is nothing more than a fuzzy smear of blue.

"If I'm wrong," I say, "there are ways of making myself right again."


End file.
